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MONTREAL - His hockey skills are indisputable. As a player, he is fearless, venturing into the corners with the toughest of opponents. He is also some kind of scorer, with a slapshot that has driven goalies to drink. Plus, he has a particularly keen understanding of the game and its players.

And his language skills? Legendary! Not only does he speak flawless French and English, he is also fluent in two other languages.

On that note, I submit my candidate for next coach of the Montreal Canadiens: Sugar Sammy. Okay, so his experience with the game is limited to ball hockey. But, on the bright side, his post-game comments, win or lose, would be a blast – and in both official languages. And should the Habs ever draft players from India or Pakistan, Sugar Sammy could communicate with them in his Hindi and Punjabi mother tongues.

Win, win? No?

Curiously, in light of the maelstrom surrounding the linguistic skills of interim Habs coach Randy Cunneyworth, one of the most fascinating entertainment stories of this and many years has emerged in the same city. Montreal comedian Sugar Sammy undertook a bold experiment in recently announcing that he would go where few comics, or any other entertainers, would ever dare to go.

Though he performs with equal ease in front of Franco and anglo audiences, he has never meshed the two languages together in concert. But he figured the time was ripe for such a move, so he announced plans for Le show franglais, wherein he would mix French and English shtick, often within the same sentence. But sensing this may be delicate, Sugar Sammy figured he would try the show on a one-shot basis in February at L’Olympia.

Well, that one show sold out within seconds. Sugar Sammy now has 23 shows – with next to no advertising – and counting. Who knew bilingualism could sell like this here? But it is refreshing that in the midst of our “language issue” – which my friend, TSN soccer analyst Noel Butler, prefers to call a “language advantage” – there is also an open-mindedness among us. And after all, it is, on many levels, to laugh at our myriad cultural quirks.

Sugar Sammy won’t be playing it safe in his shows. Certainly not if his promotional campaign is any indication: “You’re Gonna Rire,” in which he claims he will be delivering his material “50.5 per cent in English, 49.5 per cent in French.” Percentages that have deep social and political significance in this province – dating all the way back to 1995. Can you say “referendum?” He delights in skewering all sides in matters linguistic, and he gets away with it.

Why? Well, for starters, he’s very funny, and just may become the biggest international comedy star to emerge from this country. He’s also, rather fascinatingly, a poster boy for Bill 101. He did his schooling in French. He picked up English from friends on the street. And he spoke Hindi and Punjabi with his parents at home. His gift for gabbing in four languages has made him a hit here and around the world. He spends almost 10 months a year on the road, playing five continents and hitting everywhere from Abu Dhabi to New Zealand. But Montreal still remains his home base and Montrealers remain his favourite audiences.

“Despite what others may believe, Quebecers, both French and English, have learned to laugh at themselves,” Sugar Sammy has said. “And I’ll really be putting that to the test. But it’s nice to stand for something. Even if it’s just to make people ... rire.”

Curiously, the year’s other most intriguing culture story to come across my blotter also had its origins on the linguistic front, but it left few laughing: An initiative by Montreal city politicos Marvin Rotrand and Michael Applebaum to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the passing of Mordecai Richler by naming something in the city after him.

But what began seemingly innocently turned into somewhat of a soap opera, and one that would have no doubt amused Richler and appealed to his sense of inner-city irony.

Richler remains as divisive a figure as ever, a lightning rod for his outspoken views on our vaunted two solitudes. In many quarters, he is revered as one of the greatest writers to have ever emerged from this dominion. In other quarters, however, he is still reviled for his outspoken views on Quebec nationalism, particularly those that were published in the New Yorker. Truth is, Richler was as an equal-opportunity insulter, and proud of it. He also heaped plenty of ridicule on anglos and enraged fellow Jews as well with depictions in his prose.

Ten years after his death, Richler was almost more in the news than he was in his prime. Over the last year alone, the poignant adaptation of Richler’s acclaimed Barney’s Version hit the big screen. The Last of the Wild Jews, Francine Pelletier’s insightful documentary on the conundrum that was Richler, surfaced on the tube. Charles Foran’s hefty and hugely ambitious biography, Mordecai, was released and topped the local bestseller list. And McGill University created the Mordecai Richler Writer-in-Residence Program.

The latter development was all the more ironic in that McGill was a frequent butt of Richler’s barbs in his books, particularly over the university’s once-restrictive admission policies regarding Jews. Then again, as Richler would delight in pointing out, it wouldn’t have mattered in his case. Something about poor high-school grades.

Just another of the many riddles that was Richler, a fellow who, frankly, would much rather ruminate on the state of the Habs – particularly now – than on modern literature; a fellow who felt more comfortable hanging with his buddy Sweet Pea in ramshackle Eastern Townships bars than hobnobbing with the high and mighty on the urban banquet circuit.

While discussion was generally genial among the pro and anti factions in terms of naming something after Richler, a few local political figures took it to a more nasty level. Some scurrilous blogs popped up on such websites as Non à une rue Mordecai Richler, non au racisme anti-québécois, which appeared to be little more than anti-Semitic rants against “Maudicai (sic) Richler. Another deep thinker proposed renaming the “urine-smelling” alley near Phillips Square after Richler.

In the end, there would be no Rue Mordecai Richler, Bibliothèque Mordecai Richler or Place Mordecai Richler in the author’s Mile End birthplace and stomping ground. After much discussion and debate, it was decided that a rundown gazebo – soon to be given a facelift – on Mount Royal would bear the name of Mordecai Richler.

To the surprise of some, the author’s widow, Florence Richler, not only approved of the gesture, but claimed her husband would have certainly been delighted and would have also seen the humour in sharing the gazebo with people and pigeons alike.

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